


Forelsket

by Galina



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Communication is key everyone, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Hurt Shiro (Voltron), Implied/Referenced Sex, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Mentioned Hance, SHEITH - Freeform, Shiro (Voltron) Needs a Hug, Shiro is scared of hurting Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 20:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11540091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galina/pseuds/Galina
Summary: Forelsket(n.) The euphoria you experience when you're first falling in love





	Forelsket

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda just wanted to make them suffer ╰(▔∀▔)╯
> 
>  I'd recommend listening to True Disaster - Tove Lo while reading.

Waking up to a pounding headache and dry mouth isn’t unusual for Keith. As he stumbles into the bathroom to piss, he questions all his life choices at once. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter. Keith is an adult and he can get drunk off his ass if he wants to. What he isn’t anticipating though, is to find Shiro drooling on his couch. He has one arm wrapped around a pillow while the prosthetic one hangs over the edge, knuckles brushing the floor. He takes a few moments to stare and then heads to the kitchen to get the coffee on.

Keith leans on the counter, phone in hand as he contemplates the events of the night before. He wonders when Pidge and Lance and Hunk left. He wonders why Shiro stayed. Keith can remember sitting with his back to the couch, bionic fingers wrapped around his own as his lips wrap around the mouth of a beer bottle. He remembers kissing Shiro, slow and sloppy and full of mistakes. They’d ended up laughing too hard to kiss for very long, and then Shiro had passed out. Keith still has no idea how he got to his bed.

Arms curl around his waist and two palms press against his ribs; one warm and the other cool. Shiro noses his way into the dip of Keith’s shoulder where he exhales, presses a gentle kiss, and smiles. Shiro’s arms feel like home.

“How’s the hangover?” He leans back into Shiro’s embrace, setting his phone down on the counter. Not even Shiro is too perfect to get hangovers. Keith can feel his skin warming where Shiro is breathing on him, and the occasional kisses make him shudder.

“I’ve felt worse.”

“You sound like shit.” He says, just to hear Shiro huff against his neck and feel his arms squeeze around his middle. They both know Keith loves the way Shiro sounds in the mornings, all gravelly and rough. When Keith pulls away to pour them both coffee, he quietly revels in the way Shiro’s stubble catches against his skin.

Shiro slumps against the counter, eyes following Keith’s movements. He scratches at his stomach, fingers absently brushing through his happy trail. The sun filtering in through Keith’s blinds bathes him in gold, catching the strands of his hair and reflecting off his face just right. It makes Shiro’s lips curl in a lazy, adoring smile. He shuffles over to Keith’s speakers and puts his phone on shuffle before sitting it in the phone dock.

This is Keith’s playlist. The one he made on Shiro’s Spotify account because “ _your music taste is shit, Shiro. It’s worse than Lance’s and he listens to Ke$ha.”_ He listens to it at night sometimes when he wishes Keith were in his arms or when he remembers their days together as kids.

“Here.” Keith’s favourite NASA mug is thrust into his hands as Keith walks by to sit on the floor, back against the worn-down fabric. Shiro makes himself comfortable on said couch, ignoring a questionable stain on the fabric beside his thigh. They’re surrounded by the familiar scent of coffee and the quiet tune of Saturn drifting from the sound system. Keith’s looking down at his coffee, swaying slightly to the tune.

“Didn’t know you liked Sleeping At Last.”

“I don’t. Just this one.”

“Your taste is improving, Takashi.” He looks up to grin at Shiro, playful in his teasing. They both know Shiro’s music taste won’t change. Shiro leans in to kiss Keith on the mouth. It’s gentle - fleeting - before Shiro stands to wash his empty mug.

“How about we go out for breakfast? My treat?”

“Free food is free food.” Keith brings his mug over and deposits it in the sink before disappearing into his room to dress himself. Ideally, Shiro would make Keith pancakes with bacon, but unfortunately for him, Shiro can’t cook. Maybe one day he’ll be able to surprise Keith with breakfast in bed but for now, he can treat him to whatever food he wants.

When Keith reappears Shiro feels, quite literally, like he’s been punched in the gut. Keith is breathtaking in his crop top and the bright red bomber jacket he stole from Shiro forever ago and the black leggings that hang low on his hips. Shiro wishes he could stand and stare at him forever. Keith plays it up of course, thriving on the attention he gets from Shiro’s wandering eyes. He crouches low to lace up his worn boots, back curved in a way that’s enticing even through the fabric of the baggy jacket, and Shiro all but drools.

“You goin’ to keep staring or are we leaving?” Shiro rolls his eyes and pushes away from the sink to shove his feet into his boots. He playfully pulls on Keith’s ponytail as he walks by, pressing his palm to the invisible screen beside the door. He lets it slide open before he steps into his airship that he’s had it since he learned to fly. It could do with an upgrade, but Shiro is very protective of his baby. Keith walks on board just as Shiro is pressing his palms to the control pad, the metallic clang of his boots echoing through the ship.

“I know you’re old, but you really need an upgrade, man.” He comes to stand beside Shiro, hands clasped behind his back and eyes on the city around them. Shiro snorts and knocks their shoulders together, steering them into the throng of traffic. Keith will never understand why Shiro chooses to suffer like this because air traffic is ten times worse than normal traffic.

“Says the man who drives a motorcycle that’s older than himself.” It’s the same motorcycle Shiro helped him renovate and find parts for. They’ve spent hours working on the thing, changing parts and giving it an exterior to fit Keith’s personality. Keith had come home one night to find Shiro sat by his bike admiring the newly added “cherry bomb” decal on the side of the red motorcycle. Shiro had spent that night in Keith’s bed. He woke up to find a note explaining why his bed was empty the next morning and pretended he wasn’t bitter when Shiro called him later.

Sometimes Keith wonders whether Shiro is only around for the sex, and then internally kicks himself because he knows Shiro wouldn’t use him like that.

“At least my ride doesn’t look like it’s going to fall apart any minute.” Not that Shiro’s would; Pidge gives her regular check-ups every month and equips her with all the newest tech. Shiro’s ride is, to put it simply, a beauty. He’d never admit it, but Keith knows he would be upset if Shiro ever did get rid of her.

The two of them had spent months alone in her after they beat the Galra, both needing a break from the responsibilities of Voltron. It was on this ship that Shiro had told Keith about how difficult it had been to be thrust into taking leadership of Voltron. He’d told Keith that he had never really been ready to take care of four kids. Keith is the only one who knows just how deprived of being a teenager Shiro was. So, they’d packed their things onto the ship and just left. They always had communication with Pidge and the others, but for the next six months, Keith and Shiro floated through space aimlessly, never staying on one planet for too long.

Even through everything, they never talked about what the _thing_ between them was.

Keith is, and has always been, convinced that Shiro knows about how he feels. It’s not like he tries to hide it at all. In fact, it should be obvious from the way Keith talks to him, looks at him, acts when he’s with him. He tells himself he’s used to the way things are between them, but it always hurts when he wakes up to an empty bed after a night in Shiro’s arms. And on the days when Shiro does stay through the night, Keith lets himself believe in the illusion of domesticity.

He thinks that maybe getting swept up by the feeling that he’s loved isn’t so bad.

Keith isn’t surprised when he and Shiro walk into the café and find the rest of the Paladins around a table making a ruckus. The two of them slide easily into the booth, returning the hollered greetings with matching smiles.

Hunk and Lance hold hands beneath the table while they all chat and a tiny part of Keith wishes Shiro would hold his too. He focuses mostly on eating, licking syrup from his lips and almost choking on his pancakes when Pidge says something outlandish. Hunk still blushes when Lance makes lewd jokes, but Keith can tell he’s gotten better at dealing with Lance when Hunk leans in to whisper something to his husband. When Lance blushes all the way down to his neck, Hunk laughs and presses a kiss to Lance’s temple before the latter slumps against his husband.

Shiro is smiling as he sips his coffee, leaning comfortably against the cushioned backrest of the booth they’ve crammed themselves into. Sometimes Keith thinks he looks like a proud dad when he looks at Hunk and Lance cuddling like a happy couple. And when Pidge sits working on a prototype of the new prosthetics they’re designing, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and muscles rippling beneath scarred skin. They’ve all come so far, grown from a bunch of children to full-fledged adults. But somehow Keith feels like he’s the only one that hasn’t really changed all that much.

Pidge started spending almost every moment away from work in the gym at some point, and Lance filled out his limbs and his face matured. Hunk grew out his hair a little, got even taller, and his face kinder. Even Shiro has changed, becoming less like the leader of Voltron and more like _Shiro_. They still see him as an older brother figure, but Shiro is no longer their leader. Keith, on the other hand, Keith is the same. He’s grown a few inches, sure, gotten broader, and cut his hair into a carefully maintained undercut, but he doesn’t feel any different from the broody teenager that kept his feelings bottled up.

Later, when they’re back at Shiro’s place, Keith sprawls across the couch, absently running his fingers through Kiara’s fur as he listens to the sounds of Shiro’s shower running. He wonders how long it will be before he can’t take it anymore. He rolls over when Kiara jumps off his chest and buries his face into the couch cushion. When Shiro comes back into the room, sweats hanging low on his hips and tank-top fitting his frame nicely, he lifts Keith’s legs to sit beside him on the couch.

Keith almost flinches when he feels the cool metal of Shiro’s hand slide over his ankle, fingers wiggling beneath the hem of Keith’s leggings and resting there for a while before pushing up to rub over his smooth calf. He shivers a little, when the fingers dig into the muscle there. Shiro has a way of knowing just where to rub, he knows how to make Keith melt and squirm. When the hand slips out of his leggings and creeps up to rest on Keith’s thigh, he knows exactly what Shiro is going for. He sits up, then, and Shiro withdraws, half-expecting Keith to move into him like he usually would, but he doesn’t. And Keith is tempted, too, he _wants_ to let Shiro dominate him, consume him - _oh how he wants it -_  but he doesn’t. He doesn’t think he can handle Shiro’s gentle touches and tender kisses when his chest aches the way it does.

“Keith?” Shiro has moved forward a little bit, hand hovering next to Keith’s arm as worry creases his forehead and his lips pull down in a frown. The ache in Keith’s chest only grows.

“I can’t.” He pulls away, up and off the couch entirely, needing to be away from Shiro because suddenly he feels like he’s suffocating. And when he feels his eyes begin to sting, Keith feels pathetic all over again, and suddenly he’s angry. At himself, at Shiro, at the world. He flinches when Shiro stands too and reaches for him again, arms coming to wrap around himself as he rejects Shiro entirely.

“Shiro, don’t. I can’t do this. I can’t. Not anymore.” His nails dig into his arms when his voice cracks, and his eyes stay trained on Shiro’s feet.

“I don’t understand, Keith.” He sounds so confused, hurt bleeding into his tone as he tries to figure out where the sudden change came from. Keith hates himself even more for hurting Shiro, but he just can’t take the uncertainty of all this anymore.

“What are we, Shiro?” Keith looks into the grey eyes he so adores, his own dark and full of hurt. Something changes in Shiro’s eyes too, and the confusion is replaced by guilt. The guilt of knowing, but keeping quiet about the thing between them to protect himself. Because he’s _scared._ He’s terrified of hurting Keith, of losing the one thing he holds most dear. He’s guilty of letting his own insecurities get in the way of his relationship with Keith for so long because Shiro isn’t sure he knows _how_ to love Keith the way he deserves to be loved.

“I don’t know what else to do, Shiro. I’ve tried so fucking hard for you, but I can’t anymore. I _can’t_ because it hurts too much.” Keith is crumbling before Shiro’s eyes, and he doesn’t know what to do to stop it because this is his fault.

“It feels like no matter what I do, you only come to me for a good fuck. But then sometimes you stay the night and you wake me up to kisses, and you hold me in a way that makes me think that maybe, just maybe, you feel something for me too. But then you leave again. You go back to bein’ my best friend Shiro and I’m okay with that, really, I am.” His hands are shaking now, clenched so tightly around his biceps that his knuckles have gone white. And there are tears streaming down his face, dripping off his chin and down his throat.

“But you can’t have both anymore.” When Keith turns to leave, Shiro reaches out to him, wrapping his fingers around Keith’s wrist to stop him.

“We can talk about this.” Shiro doesn’t want Keith to leave like this. Not while he hates Shiro. He can’t lose his best friend, not after everything.

“About _what_ , Shiro?” When he turns around, Keith is fuming, his eyes ablaze as he shakes off Shiro’s hand and jabs him in the chest.

“Do you wanna talk about how you’ve only ever kept me around as a convenient fuck? Or about how I’m just someone you can dump your feelings on when you need it?” Shiro’s hands curl into fists when Keith jabs him again, teeth bared as he tries to get a rise out of Shiro.

“Keith, please. You know that’s not true.” Keith cuts him off, shoving him now as a frustrated snarl rises from his throat.

“How can you be so calm? How can you be _so_ stoic when I’m falling apart at the seams? Is this how little you care for me?” And when Shiro calls his name again, quiet and hurt, a soft whisper drowned out by the thrumming in Keith’s own ears, he sees red.

Before either of them know what’s happening, Keith’s fist is connecting with Shiro’s nose with a sickening crack, forcing his head to whip to the side. Shiro’s hands come up to cradle his nose, his eyes wide. Keith freezes when he sees the blood as it drips out of the nose he’s sure he just broke. His hands shake at his sides, and he stares at Shiro, shocked and horrified by himself before he runs.

He runs out of Shiro’s apartment, out of the building it’s in. He runs, away from Shiro, away from the sound of his fist connecting with Shiro’s nose. And he doesn’t stop running until he can’t breathe, until he can’t see from the tears in his eyes, until he’s sliding down into a ball in his own home. Then he cries like he hasn’t before. He wails into his arms, his entire body trembling as the sobs wrack through him.

Shiro stands frozen until the door slams shut behind Keith. And then he sinks down onto the couch, blood dripping through his fingers as he feels himself crumble. His tears dilute the blood as it runs down his chin, down his arms, staining his couch and the carpet. And he doesn’t move until the blood has dried, just sits in the silence of his home, head throbbing and brain buzzing as he replays the moment Keith snapped over and over again in his mind. When Shiro finally manages to find the strength to move, he showers and sends a message to Pidge about his broken nose. He scrubs what he can out of the carpet and couch before sitting with his head in his hands and waiting.

Pidge doesn’t ask any questions when they arrive, going straight over to Shiro, standing between his legs so they can comfortably reset Shiro’s nose before bandaging it. Pidge makes them both some tea and curls on the couch beside Shiro, waiting patiently for the man to talk.

“I fucked up.” Pidge nods solemnly, knowing already that it’s about Keith, because it’s always about Keith. This though, Shiro actually calling for Pidge, is a first. Usually they would have to override his security systems and force their way in to make sure Shiro was safe, but this time he needs to talk it out. Because this time is different. This time he’s sure Keith will never want to see him again.

“He said… He said he feels like I only use him for sex.” His eyes are watering again, fists clenched in his lap as he keeps his gaze firmly on the wall. “I _made_ him feel unimportant, unloved.” He looks at Pidge now, and they can see that he’s blaming this all on himself.

“Look. I could say it’s not your fault but honestly? It is partly your fault, but it’s also Keith’s. You’re both idiots for not talking shit out.” They meet Shiro’s eyes, and there’s no sympathy there, just facts. Shiro listens to Pidge talk, tells them what’s on his mind, and eventually cries into their shoulder until they joke about how gross he looks. He laughs through the tears and wipes his eyes. Pidge stays with Shiro until he feels less like he’s going to fall apart, and when they leave, he curls up in bed with Kiara, stroking the cat’s soft fur until he falls asleep.

Keith doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting with his back against the front door, but it’s getting dark outside. He knows he should feed Kovu – the cat has been pawing at his leg for a while now – but every time Keith thinks about the day he and Shiro had adopted their cats and named them together, he’s hit by a fresh wave of tears. He reaches over to scoop the cat into his arms, chokes back sobs as he buries his face into the soft fur on his back. He jumps when there’s a knock on his door and Kovu pounces from his lap to hiss at the door from behind a pair of Keith’s boots. He considers not opening the door; he doesn’t feel like moving or talking to anyone just yet.

“Keith, I swear to God if you don’t open to door I’ll break it down.” Keith cringes when he doesn’t hear the usual playfulness in Lance’s tone, knowing he’ll see worry on Lance’s face when he opens the door. He’s already expecting the bone-crushing hug that Lance pulls him into when he does finally gather the strength to open the door. When Keith doesn’t fight it or yell like he usually would, Lance’s stomach sinks. Keith pushes away when Lance says his name, full of remorse, tells him to _stop_ because Keith doesn’t want to listen. He ignores Lance in favour of feeding his cat, doing anything to avoid the conversation he knows Lance will want to have.

Lance just waits, patiently watching him from the couch. When Keith finally comes over to sit in his lap, Lance holds his best friend and lets him cry. And when Keith falls asleep in his arms, Lance sends Hunk a text to tell him he’s staying with Keith tonight. This isn’t new to Lance, having Keith fall asleep crying in his arms was once a regular occurrence in their lives.

He stays with Keith until he’s ready to talk, feeds him and forces him to bathe. He even marathons the X-Files with him. It’s five in the morning when Keith turns to him, his eyes like molten lava and hands trembling slightly and Lance knows he’s ready to talk. He takes the few seconds that Keith needs to find his words to really look at his best friend. What he finds reminds him of an eighteen-year-old Keith, face blotchy and eyes red as he stands outside Lance’s room, looking like a mess. Lance can remember clearly the nights spent with Keith crying in his arms when they lost Shiro the second time and he feels like somehow, he failed his best friend for not being able to protect him from the heartbreak.

“I punched him in the face,” It’s not how Lance expects Keith to start, but he keeps his mouth shut and listens. “I said some nasty shit, I pushed and pushed and he still didn’t react and I don’t know what came over me I… I saw red, Lance, I couldn’t take it and next thing I know his nose is bleeding and he looks shocked, you know? Even more than that he looked hurt.” Keith is gesturing as he talks, hands shaking a little more, breathing a little faster.

Lance thinks he looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“I bolted. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran away. I broke his goddamn nose and ran away.” His hands fall to his lap, curling around the hem of his t-shirt in an attempt to stop them from shaking as a wave of fresh tears begins to fall. His face scrunches up as he tries to hold back and he looks away from Lance, shoulders raised to his ears. “I fucked up.”

“You need to talk to him.” Lance resists the urge to pull Keith into his arms, even when he chokes on his words, sounding more broken than Lance ever recalls. He doesn’t take his eyes off Keith even when Kovu wiggles between them on the couch to curl in Keith’s lap. When Keith tries to interrupt him, shaking his head with desperation in his eyes, Lance cuts him off, raising his hand.

“I know it’s hard, but you’ve been fucked up over this for so long, buddy, and now you’re back to square one wallowing in despair again.” Keith’s shoulders slump in defeat because he knows Lance is right, he knows he has to actually talk to Shiro about everything.

“I don’t know if I can face him.” He hates how pathetic he sounds, hates that he’s so fucking afraid. But Lance doesn’t judge him. He doesn’t tell him he’s stupid, doesn’t tell him that he’s pathetic. Lance just nods and puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder, smiling at him as he tells him it’s okay to be afraid.

“Take some time to think about it, and then go see Shiro. Talk to him.” Lance pulls Keith into one last hug as he’s leaving and pats his back. It takes Keith by surprise when Lance tells him he loves him, but Keith says it back anyway because he knows he’d be feeling much worse if it wasn’t for Lance taking care of him. It’s a thank you for all the years that Lance stood by him and continues to do so, and when Keith almost cries again, Lance teases him and they part ways laughing.

Keith spends the rest of the day wondering what to say to Shiro.

Shiro cleans his whole apartment twice and showers for forty-five minutes before finally mustering up the courage to go and talk to Keith.

It’s been almost two weeks since their fight, and Shiro’s nose still throbs from time to time. He stands outside Keith’s apartment, hand raised, hovering in front of the panel he knows will let him in. Shiro stands there for a long time, reminding himself to just breathe and running through the jumbled mess of thoughts that he hopes to string together into a coherent sentence. He settles in knocking in the end, and half hopes Keith won’t open the door.

He’s about to turn around and leave when the door opens and Keith is standing there, looking tired and much, much older than he has ever looked. He sees the surprise on Keith’s eyes followed by the anger and the hurt, and when Keith shifts, Shiro opens his mouth as if afraid that Keith will close the door in his face.

“Keith, please.” He doesn’t need to say much else, because Keith knows Shiro well enough to read into his words. Keith knows that Shiro is begging to explain, to make things right as he has so many times before. He’s tempted still to turn Shiro down, to slam the door in his face and curl back up in bed, but both Shiro and Keith know that shutting Shiro out now would mean creating a permanent, impermeable rift between them. Keith steps back, leaving the door open as he shuffles into the living room and slumps on the couch. Shiro follows him and stands uncomfortably in the doorway, watching Keith.

Shiro watches the way Keith curls into himself and keeps his eyes on his lap, dark hair falling over the pretty violet eyes that Shiro remembers so vividly being full of hurt. Shiro sees, then, just how unwell Keith looks; his hair is glossy with grease and his fingers quiver a little where he clenches and unclenches them in his lap. He notices that there are things out of place in Keith’s apartment, like the broken glass on the counter and the overturned photo frames that Shiro knows are photos of the two of them.

“I’m sorry.” Is what comes out first, because Shiro is still trying to gather his thoughts, but when Keith tenses, Shiro lets himself go. “I wanted to talk to you, tell you how I feel about you, but I was scared. Of myself, of hurting you, because I’m fucked up, Keith. I’m so messed up that I thought that if I ever told you how much I love you I’d end up hurting you. But I was selfish, and I ended up hurting you anyway, and I am _so sorry_ , Keith. I’m sorry I made you feel so unloved.”

Shiro’s voice begins to quiver, cracking as tears begin to well up in his eyes and talking around the lump in his throat becomes more and more difficult. He’s not looking at Keith anymore, is afraid that Keith might detest him, and the thought of being without Keith is unbearable. He falls silent, incapable of forming another sentence without breaking down completely on Keith’s floor. Shiro is reminding himself that he needs to breathe, because he can’t have a panic attack, not now, when he hears Keith move. When he looks up, Keith has turned to look at him and Shiro notices that there are tears in his eyes too.

“I know you’re not like that.” Keith’s voice is quiet, and he averts his gaze, his voice hoarse from disuse and thick with unshed tears. “I shouldn’t have said those things, but I was just so angry, you know? I felt like I wasn’t good enough to be your boyfriend.”

Keith raises his hand, then, an invitation that Shiro takes without hesitation. He takes both of Keith’s hands in his own, thumb grazing over bruised knuckles as Shiro crouches on the floor in front of Keith. And when Keith leans down to rest his forehead against Shiro’s,  they’re both crying. Shiro tells Keith he loves him between salty kisses, and then Keith is pulling him up onto the couch and climbing into his lap, clinging desperately to him.

Shiro apologises against Keith’s lips, which only makes him kiss Shiro harder, deeper, trying to make him stop talking because every time Keith thinks about how very nearly he’d lost Shiro, his chest aches like he’s broken his ribs.

“I love you.” Shiro says when Keith is kissing down the column of his neck and sucking a mark against his collarbone, and Keith bites down just a little bit harder.

“I love you.” Shiro says when Keith has his mouth wrapped around a pink nipple, and his hand pinches the other one just a little bit harder.

“I love you.” Shiro says when Keith has a hand wrapped around his cock, and he leans down to bite harshly at Shiro’s inner thigh, drawing beads of blood to the surface of his skin and making Shiro arch and writhe beneath him.

He says it over and over again when Keith is seated in his lap, shuddering beautifully as he rocks up and down and flushes down to his chest. Shiro kisses down Keith’s throat, marking him there and on his chest before he is hauled back up into a sloppy kiss as their pace becomes erratic.

Shiro says it again when Keith is falling asleep against his chest, and the muffled reply he gets makes his heart soar. Shiro is left feeling incredibly warm as he holds Keith that night.

Keith is half expecting Shiro to be gone when he wakes up, but when he feels the familiar warmth beneath him, he feels like he could cry. The steady rise and fall of Shiro’s chest and the beating of his heart under Keith’s head makes him feel like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He’s half-asleep by the time muscles shift and tense beneath him and there is a deep exhale against his hair. Keith looks up just as Shiro is leaning down and when they meet halfway for a kiss, Keith can feel the smile on Shiro’s lips.

“Mornin’.” Shiro’s voice has a roughness to it that makes Keith shudder. It sounds like the scrape of stubble against skin and the low rumble of thunder in the distance. Keith thinks it electrifies the room and makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge, and when Shiro looks at him with hooded eyes and a soft smile, Keith feels like the happiest man in the world.  

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to V (@sweethoonie on Twitter) for beta-ing this for me!
> 
> Comments & Kudos are much appreciated.
> 
> Find me on Twitter @shitrogane!


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